


Incurable

by mindy_makru_tutu



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2019-09-17 23:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16983543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindy_makru_tutu/pseuds/mindy_makru_tutu
Summary: Elliot and Olivia's joint abduction and subsequent therapy forces them to confront the truth of their relationship.





	Incurable

"Kiss her."

"…What?"

"You heard me."

"…Why?"

"Because I'm the one with the gun."

"What is it you're tryin' to do here?"

"What you did to me, Detective Stabler."

"Which is?"

"Ruin your life, your relationships—"

"You did that all on your own, Duncan."

"And now you're gonna do it. With a little help from your partner." Duncan hooked a hand into Olivia's elbow, hauling her to her feet by her bound arms. "Up we get, sweetheart..."

Olivia rose unsteadily, tripping on the cracked concrete but managing to disguise her dizziness.

"Leave her outta this," Elliot growled, unshackled but just as powerless, "she's got nothing to do with my life or relationships."

Duncan sidled in close behind her, smirking at her while pressing Elliot's gun into her ribs. "Aw, that must hurt. Hearing how unimportant you are to him."

Olivia tipped her chin up, angling her face away from his rancid breath.

Elliot took a tentative step forward, both hands raised. "I'm married, Duncan, I'm not in a relationship with Detective Benson—"

Duncan turned his maniacal smirk on Elliot. "S'that what you tell yourself late at night when you're lying next to your wife? Or when you're rutting on top of her boring old bones?"

Elliot's hands dropped to his sides, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Unlike you, I'm capable of being faithful to one woman."

"Let's test that theory, shall we?" He gave Olivia a shove, sending her stumbling toward her partner. "Ungag her."

Elliot caught her, hands gentle on her pinned arms. "And then what? What's all this gonna prove, except your own depravity?"

"I'm glad you asked, Elly, cos here's the deal—" Duncan headed to the table in the middle of his makeshift torture chamber, his darkly smug voice echoing off the cool, grey walls. "It's gonna ruin both your relationships, just like you did mine. It's gonna make sure that neither of the women you love will ever trust you again. And best of all, it's gonna prove that you…" he settled a chunky thigh on the table edge, eyes glinting at his prey, "are just like me."

"Oh yeah? And how's that?"

"You're like every sexual predator you've ever hunted. Because just like them," he waved his gun at Olivia, "you want what you shouldn't. And now," he rose, gun pointed and jaw set, "you're finally gonna get it."

* * *

  
"What happened next?"

George Huang watches the two SVU detectives exchange a look and silently decide who will field his question. Mere seconds pass before Olivia takes the lead:

"Elliot took the duct tape off my mouth."

"And then?"

This time there's no look. Olivia turns her head toward her partner but doesn't speak. Elliot shifts in his seat. George turns his gaze on the other man.

"Elliot?"

Elliot shrugs in his blazer, a slight sheen on his brow. "Do we really need to do this together?" he mutters, adding under his breath, "Or at all?"

George inhales, summoning the patience of his profession at the expected resistance. "The two of you were captured and traumatized together. It makes sense that we process the incident jointly. Especially since the fear is that it could impact your partnership."

Elliot's gaze contracts. "Whose fear?"

"It hasn't," Olivia interjects more calmly. "Impacted our partnership."

George nods then turns to her partner. "Would you agree with that, Elliot?"

"We're fine," he mumbles, voice an irritated rumble and eyes on the plush carpeting, "Duncan was just another dirtbag, we've seen hundreds."

"Nevertheless," George murmurs evenly, "your captain is concerned about the health of your partnership after this incident. And unfortunately my case load means I don't have time to see you separately. I could recommend someone else who might, if that's what you'd prefer."

He leaves a gap, once again watching the silent communication of the long-time partners. He assumes they've already discussed this in private. Olivia indicates as much with her eyes. Elliot backs down with a bob of the head. Both would prefer him to a shrink they don't know, one assigned by the force. That's why their captain enlisted him. That, and the insight he's earned by years of watching Elliot and Olivia operate without them suspecting all he saw.

George glances down at the case file then lifts his brows at his Sex Crimes colleagues. "Shall we continue?"

Elliot sighs heavily but rattles off, as if by rote, "The perp dragged Olivia over to me, told me to ungag her…"

"I told Elliot that I was fine," Olivia continues, picking up his abandoned sentence, "to just…do whatever Duncan wanted."

George nods. "So you consented?"

"She didn't say anything, she just…" Elliot glances sideways at his partner, "she looked at me."

Olivia returns the sidelong look. "No, I said it."

"No, that was later—"

George holds up a hand to stall them. "But, Elliot, you understood that Olivia was fine?"

Elliot humphs, gaze drifting away from his partner and around the non-descript office. "Her hands were taped behind her back, she had a bloody lip, a dislocated shoulder and, for all I knew, a concussion. I think _fine_ is a bit of an overstatement."

"I was fine," Olivia says, gaze clear and direct.

"She was fine." Elliot shrugs and waves a hand at her. "She's always fine."

"With what needed to happen, I mean."

"I see." George scribbles a few notes then looks up at Olivia. "So, Olivia, tell me what happened next."

* * *

 

"Kiss her, Detective, or I will. And your gorgeous partner will have you to blame for my tongue down her throat and my big Neanderthal hands on her ass." Duncan glowered at her, baring his teeth and getting right up in her face. "That's what you called me, wasn't it, sweetheart? A Neanderthal with a superiority complex?"

Olivia's eyes flicked to the gun, held loosely at his side. "Prove me wrong."

"I'm gonna do better than that," Duncan muttered, reading her intent and retreating. "I'm gonna show you the Neanderthal lurking beneath your partner's civilized exterior. Because beneath this shirt and tie," he bunched Elliot's crumpled shirt and tie in one fist, yanking him forward and suspending him there, "beneath all that sensitivity and morality, there's an animal just like me."

"He's nothing like you," Olivia told him, standing tall in her restraints. "And it doesn't matter what you make him do, you'll never turn him into you. Because whatever you make him do, I'll give him permission."

Duncan grinned and shoved Elliot away by his shirt-front. "You know, it's touching how much faith you have in him." He began to circle the two of them, lifting his weapon and stroking his temple with it, "Let's see how much is left after I have him assault you."

Olivia's eyes tracked his every movement. "It's not assault if I want it, if I consent. And I do."

"Oh yeah, you want it, don't you? You want him."

"Always have. You're just giving me what I've wanted for years."

"Liv—"

Olivia kept her eyes trained on Duncan. "Shut up, El."

"Liv—"

"I said shut up. And do what the man says."

Duncan quit circling. He stuck the gun barrel in Olivia's back, prodding her closer to her partner and snarling at him over her shoulder, "Yeah, El. Shut up and do what _the man_ says."

* * *

  
Elliot rises abruptly. Olivia's eyes follow him.

George pauses, folding his hands on his desktop. "Elliot, do you need to take a break?"

"No," he grunts, heading for the only window in the small office.

George looks at his partner. "Olivia?"

She nods once. "I'm fine."

"Told ya," Elliot mutters triumphantly from the window.

George takes another pause before pressing on. "So Elliot, did you follow Duncan's instructions? Did you kiss Olivia?"

Elliot clears his throat then delivers a deceptively easy, "Yeah!"

Olivia's response, when he turns to her, is more sedate. "Yes, he did. He…kept it light, brief."

"Not that it satisfied Duncan," her partner grumbles, drawing back the blinds with two fingers and peering outside.

"He wanted to see you squirm," George states.

"No kidding."

"He wanted to break you down then break you apart."

Elliot stands up straight, lets the blinds fall back into their neat little rows. "Yeah, and I'm not giving him the satisfaction."

"Which is why you've done the right thing in coming here to clear the air and put this incident behind you."

He slumps again, wagging his head at the floor. " _Incident_ …"

George draws in a breath, letting the silence sit for a moment. Then he asks in his usual mild tone, "Elliot, would you mind coming and sitting down again?"

Elliot looks up but not at him. His eyes find his partner's and another silent exchange takes place across the length of the office. George has no illusions about who it is that manages to convince Elliot to re-take the seat opposite his desk and adjacent to Olivia's.

"Now, before we go on," he continues, facing the two of them across his orderly desktop, "I need to establish the nature of your personal relationship. And I'm sorry if the following question causes any discomfort but let me once again assure you that these sessions are confidential. Let me also assure you that there is no judgement attached to this line of inquiry as I understand the unique intimacy that can occur in some partnerships—"

"Oh, for God's sake, get on with it…!"

George takes Elliot's outburst in stride, moving onto the question he needs answered. "During your years of partnership, has anything of a romantic and/or sexual nature ever occurred between the two of you?"

Elliot's temper swings the other way and he withdraws in his seat. "What kind of question is that?"

"What I mean is, was this the first time you've ever kissed each other because that changes—"

"Yes," Elliot interjects in an affronted, decisive tone.

"Yes," Olivia adds, modifying her partner's response. "First time. We've never—…no."

"No." Elliot shifts in his seat again, adjusting his jacket on his body.

"I see," George picks up his pen, returning to his notes as he asks, "But Elliot, you say that it wasn't enough for Duncan?"

"Too tame. Guess he wanted a little more…raunch."

"And how did you handle that?"

* * *

  
"That was pathetic! Are you fucking kidding me? _That's_ how you kiss the woman you've lusted after for years?!" Duncan was bent at the waist, eyes wet and bulging as he cackled with vicious delight. "Christ, Elly, where are your balls? That's not how you—" he beckoned to Olivia with his gun, "come 'ere, sweetheart, let me show you how—"

Elliot tightened his grip on her with one hand, the other bolting out to stall Duncan. "No."

" _No_?" He halted, looking dangerously taken aback and simultaneously impressed. "You want another shot at her, Stabler? You think you can do better? Cos I think your lil' Livy would prefer a real man—"

Olivia pressed closer to her partner. "I'm good, right here."

He gave a helpless shrug, mouth tugging up at one edge. "Well, it's good to see you two are hell bent on ruining your professional partnership. Eyes on the prize, I like that. That's what we're here for, after all…"

Duncan circled them once, steely gaze drifting over the scuffed and battered length of them. He took in the location of Elliot's hands – one positioned protectively on her lower back under her bound hands, the other on the much safer territory of her uninjured shoulder, shielding her slightly from his view. Both hands dropped away the second Elliot was made conscious of where they were by this three hundred and sixty degree scrutiny. Olivia likewise withdrew from her partner, placing a greater distance between his body and her own. Any face-saving detachment wouldn't last long though. Because on his next rotation, Duncan shunted Elliot's shoulder, prompting impatiently:

"Well? What're you waitin' for? Take it away, Elly. And this time…kiss her like you really mean it." He leant in and whispered in his ear, "Go ahead and take her the way you've always wanted."

Elliot glared at their chuckling captor has he continued circling, moving out of his reach, out of range of the punch he was aching to throw. Olivia saw him tamping down his most violent of impulses and whispered a soft and steady _don't_.

His eyes met hers. "Liv…"

"S'okay…" she held his gaze, gave an infinitesimal shake of her head, "forget about him, just—" she shifted closer as his gaze was drawn by the madman behind her, "look at me, focus on me."

His head drooped, shaking faintly. "Sorry…"

"El. El…" Olivia ducked her head to catch his gaze. And once she did, she made sure his eyes remained locked on hers. "Right here, okay? Right here with me…" Then she gave him a small nod.

Elliot drew in a breath, scanning her eyes for any sign of uncertainty or distrust or disappointment. But Olivia's gaze was straight and certain and prepared. He exhaled in gratitude. He cupped one side of her face with one hand. Then both. There was dirt on her cheek from when she'd been lying, hands and feet bound, on the floor of the van. He dusted it off, leant in slightly – then stopped. Olivia leant in when he hesitated, making the kiss more mutual than it was supposed to be and leaving him only a millimeter or three to close before he was kissing her. He couldn't dive right in and kiss her full on the mouth, just like he couldn't the first time. Instead, Elliot had placed a soft, chaste kiss on one corner of her mouth, the corner without a trickle of blood leaking from it.

This time though, he went for that bloody little corner, he fit his mouth over the gash, he lapped up her blood, smudging it over his lips as he followed its trail down to her bruised chin. When his mouth rose back to hers, his breath was quickening and his reservations all but spent. Olivia met him with an open mouth that fit perfectly with his whichever angle they tried. It felt perfect to have his bottom lip between hers or hers between his. To feel them rasp wetly along each other, sliding one way then another, sucking on a favorite spot for a blinding moment before moving on to find yet more perfection. When Olivia stifled a moan and introduced her tongue into the kiss, he grunted in response and dropped an arm to wrap round her body, hauling her as close as he could get her. He was not completely insensate to the fact that her hands were bound or to their grim surroundings. The kiss was the kiss of two people in mortal danger. Yet it also transcended their present predicament, dwarfed it, mocked it with its unbridled bliss.

Such bliss proved unacceptable to their captor who felt he was being mocked, excluded, forgotten. Duncan knew he was losing control of the room. So he began to applaud, loud and slow, breaking their spell and causing the two of them to abruptly yank apart. He sauntered over, slinging an arm round each of their shoulders.

"Aw, now, see? Can't you guys feel yourselves splitting at the seams already? Undoing all those years of trust and faith and well-intentioned distance?" He tapped his gun against the back of Elliot's skull. "It's working, init, Stabler? Can you feel that inner Neanderthal rising to the surface cos I'm sure Benson here can – am I right, Liv?" He winked at her as though he'd just delivered some stunning innuendo, slapping her bottom and forcing her hips into her partner's. Then Duncan danced away, announcing, "Okay! Time to up the stakes. Let's really trash this thing."

* * *

  
A high-pitched trill pierces the silence. Huang apologizes, reaching into his breast pocket to silence the phone. On seeing the number on screen though, his brow crumples and he quickly excuses himself:

"I'm sorry. This is important, I've got to take this."

When the door shuts behind him, the silence falls heavier.

Elliot puts his hands on the arms of his chair, grasping them as he eases himself up onto his feet. There's a bandage round one of his hands and the knuckles on the other are scabbed with blood. He moves stiffly due to a pair of broken ribs, periodically lifting a hand to trace the stitches on his brow. He wanders to the window, his step slow and thoughtful. Pulling back the blinds again, he looks down at the sweltering street below. The FBI headquarters are ferociously air-conditioned, the artificially cool air sealed in like it's a state secret. This plus the building's height guarantees that no sound reaches Huang's claustrophobic little office. He can hear Olivia shift in her seat and pull in a careful breath.

"Elliot."

He doesn't answer. He knows she knows he's listening. Or he assumes she does.

"We can't let this break us. Or…change us."

He lets the blinds drop back, lifts his hand to his brow.

"Then he wins."

He turns, leaning back against the window sill with his arms crossed.

"That's why we're here."

"Can't…stop thinking 'bout," he murmurs, shaking his bowed head, "…what I did to you."

Olivia rises from her chair, her voice soft but insistent. "You didn't do anything to me. We survived a bad situation by doing the only thing we could."

"You don't…?" He can't finish the sentence, say it aloud. But he doesn't have to.

"You had my permission," she murmurs, moving a little closer. "Every step of the way. And…" she swallows and lowers her head, "I was hardly a passive participant."

Elliot lifts his gaze and looks her over, jaw set. "I exposed you."

"You protected me," she counters quietly, leaning back on the edge of Huang's desk.

"How did he…? I still…can't—" He gravitates toward her, facing the edge of the desk she's leaning against. He can't complete that question either, the second of many questions that have been keeping him awake at night. But then Kyle Duncan wouldn't be the first perp to figure him out, to figure them out without them even knowing it.

Olivia shrugs one shoulder. "He was a sociopath."

"Still…" Elliot looks down at his battered and bandaged fingers, "can't help feeling he was right. Doesn't matter…what we said before or what we say after…" he lifts his head, turns it to look at her, "everything's different now. We're different."

Olivia holds his gaze but doesn't say anything. She wants to protest. He can tell. But she's never been very good at deceit. Not when it comes to real life and not when it comes to him. She's trying to gather the requisite conviction to refute him when Elliot faces her, head tilted to one side.

"You know it's true," he says, voice low.

Olivia opens her mouth, drops her gaze. Then turns away, heading back to her seat. "Let's just wait and see what Huang has to say."

Elliot bobs his head a few times, willing to believe in a last-ditch cure if she is. He stretches his spine, feeling the pleasurably painful tug on his ribcage. Then he returns to his chair, easing back into it with a groan. "God," he mutters, "why can't therapy include alcohol?"

His partner casts him a sidelong glance and a dim smile.

* * *

  
They walk into the first bar they find after leaving Huang's office. The neighborhood is unfamiliar and swankier than they're used to. Olivia orders two outrageously expensive scotches before joining Elliot at a small wooden table.

"So…how many of these sessions d'you think there'll be?" she asks as she settles into her seat.

Elliot shrugs, loosening his tie. "However many it takes?"

Her eyes scan his face. "'Til?"

"We're cured? We're back to normal?"

She humphs as their drinks and bill arrive. "What's normal?"

"I dunno." Her partner picks up his drink, swirling the liquid in a circle and gazing into the vortex. "I'd rather just get on with it, you know? Do our job, deal with it in our own way—"

"You mean, not at all?"

He looks up. "It's worked for us in the past."

"Has it?" Olivia shakes her head, biting her lip before saying, "If we're going to continue working together, Elliot, we need to find a way of dealing—"

"What d'you mean _if_?" he interrupts with a frown.

She waves off the verbal slip, takes a sip of her drink. "Turn of phrase."

"Liv—"

Swallowing, she continues on with more momentum and urgency. "I mean, maybe the reason Duncan targeted us together was because…" she stalls, momentum faltering, "there's so much…unresolved stuff here."

Elliot's frown deepens. "There is?"

She rolls her eyes, turns her face away. "Don't start…"

"What's unresolved?"

"Are you kidding me?"

He shrugs and blinks at her. "What's unresolved?"

His partner looks at him, her eyes dark and mouth set in a straight line. "Elliot."

"What?" He puts down his drink and spreads his hands. "I'm not being—"

"I can't talk to you when you're like this," she mutters, shaking her head and getting to her feet.

Elliot watches her rise, his tone becoming more confused, more desperate. "Like what, for Christ's sake? I'm not—" He stands, voice dropping low. "Liv."

"Thanks for the drink," she murmurs, grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair before heading for the door.

Elliot drops back into his seat, mumbling to himself, "Didn't realize I was buying…" He picks up the bill folded discreetly on its little tray then tosses it away in exasperation.

* * *

 _  
_"Alright, Elly, confession time. What's your favorite part of your partner's body?"

"You're a sick fuck, Duncan."

"That's the point. We both are. We're both incurable."

"You, definitely."

"Come on…" Duncan stood behind Olivia, one hand pointing the gun at her sternum, the other slithering down her side, from breast to hip, "don't pretend you've never looked, never imagined her naked, imagined running your hands over this fine form…"

Elliot's jaw twitched. "I don't objectify women."

"That's very evolved of you." Duncan looked down at his free hand, caressing the curve of her hip, then back up at Elliot, eyes dark under his brows. "But you've still thought about it. Haven't you?" Getting nothing from her partner, Duncan released Olivia with a jolt and drew back to appraise her, gun still trained on her heart. "No red-blooded man could blame you. I mean, look at her. She's not bad looking – for a pig. And she's definitely keeping it tight for a woman her age."

Elliot kept his eyes off his partner and on his tormentor. "You mean one over the age of consent?"

Duncan side-stepped over to him, voice lowered to a conspiratorial rasp and gaze flicking between him and Olivia. "Maybe she does it for you – that ever occur to you? Maybe she forgoes the donuts, does all those tummy crunches all for you. Maybe the hair, the lips, the tight shirts, maybe it's all for her married partner..."

Elliot looked away, chin tipped up but teeth rhythmically clenching.

Duncan turned to him, creeping closer, pushing harder. Face contorted into an expression of fevered sadism, he hissed in his ear, "Maybe your partner's one huge cock-tease, an on-the-job seductress—"

Elliot snapped, throwing a punch then clutching the other man and hurling him against the concrete wall. "You can go to hell!"

"Elliot!" Olivia called out in shock, in warning, in fear. But before her partner could launch a real attack, Duncan raised his gun. Aiming it right at Elliot's face.

"I'll meet you there," he chuckled before watching Elliot's muscles gradually soften and surrender. Duncan straightened against the wall, slurping up the blood that now ran from his nose. "Right after you tell me," he took a breath, re-focused his game, "what your favorite part of Olivia's body is." Wandering over to her, he stuck the tip of the gun under the hem of her shirt and started lifting it. "Or do we need to take a closer look?"

"No!" Elliot barked, still struggling to reign in his rage. He exhaled a low _fuck_ then went on, every word taut with exhaustion, with desperation. "No…Look, just…leave her outta this, you don't need to do this. It's me you want, I'm the one who—"

Duncan started chuckling again. "Oo-hoo, the answer must be real bad, huh, Liv? That's what he calls you, isn't it? _Liv_ …" He faced her, chest pressed to her wounded shoulder and voice whispering in her ear. "Bet you've noticed him sneakin' a peek, bet you know eeeeeeverything there is to know about your partner, including his dirty little secrets. So, come on. Spill, sweetheart. Is he a leg man or a breast man?" His voice returned to its normal, obnoxious volume as he grabbed a cheek of her ass and squeezed. "Or is it this glorious ass he spends his days lusting after?"

Olivia whirled round on the spot. "Get your hands off me."

Duncan put his hands up, glancing over at Elliot. "See? She wants you, El, not me."

"Who could blame me?"

"You like 'em feisty?" he continued, ignoring Olivia and addressing Elliot. "I like 'em feisty too. More satisfying when they give in."

"I'm gonna kill you," Elliot snarled in response, "you're a fucking dead man."

"No doubt," Duncan mused, unfazed. "But in the meantime…" he turned Olivia back to face her partner, "pick a part. Pick a part and I'll let you touch it."

Elliot straightened his spine. "And if I refuse?"

"Oh, Elly, you know the deal – we're playin' by my rules now. If you don't touch her, I will. And maybe I'll use my gun hand. Maybe your partner will lose a toe. Or get a bullet in her knee. Which do you think she'd prefer?" He pressed Elliot's weapon into her dislocated shoulder, making her cry out. "A shattered shoulder or the man she loves giving her what she already admitted she's always wanted?"

"Hurt her and I'll—"

"I'm not gonna hurt her," Duncan interjected, brows puckered with affronted bewilderment. "You are." Turning the gun on Elliot, he suddenly and impatiently growled, "Answer the question."

Olivia watched Elliot open his mouth, close it then shake his head, running out of strategy and stamina. So she answered for him in a simple, shameless voice. "He's a breast man."

"Well, who isn't?" Duncan humphed, tossing a contemptuous look at her partner as he headed back to his table. "How like you, Stabler, to be such a cliché."

"Laugh it up," Elliot muttered, moving back to his place at Olivia's side, "I'm gonna ring your fucking neck."

"And I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

"You bet I will."

"But not half as much as you're gonna enjoy this next bit."

"I'm done playing your games."

Duncan stopped in his tracks. He faced him. Took two steps towards him. And told him with all the warped and repressed wrath that would inspire a man to abduct and torment two seasoned police officers. "You're done when I say you're done. Because you know what happens to Olivia if you refuse." He continued on his path, hitching himself up to sit cross-legged on the tabletop like a child. "So kiss your partner again and this time I wanna see your hands on her breasts. You've got two and so does she."

"What about me?" Olivia demanded, flapping her elbows at her sides. "Don't I get to say what my favorite part of his body is? Don't I get to feel him up?"

Duncan grinned, his levity instantly restored by her defiance. "Oh, sweetheart, this isn't about equality. This is about making you his victim. Just like he made Amy and Tess mine."

"Amy and Tess _were_ your victims."

"And now you're his."

"No—"

"Yes." Duncan waved the gun at Elliot, "Elliot, you're up." Then he gasped with pleasure as he watched them reluctantly face each other, "And oh!…isn't that beautiful? You two can't even look each other in the eye. Believe me, Elly, after all this, she'll never look at you the same way again. You'll never be her partner now, you'll never be her hero. You'll be just another dirty perp, and every time she looks at you – you'll revolt her to her core."

* * *

  
Elliot wakes in a cold sweat, arms twitching in mid-air, biceps set to strangle mode. His breath comes hard and fast, his chest rising and falling heavily with each ragged inhalation. His sleep deceived hands expect to wrap themselves round Duncan's throat but all they feel is the insubstantial, stale air of the crib and the lingering sensation of his partner's body.

He gives his head a sharp shake on the pillow, trying desperately to dislodge what he wishes was a nightmare. But the memory is too vivid, too recent, too devastating to dismiss. The memory of her breath on his lips, warm and wet and tasting of blood, telling him to ignore Duncan. To obey him but ignore him. And God help him, he did. His palms had covered both her breasts as he kissed his partner for the third time, a hideous, hidden bolt of pleasure racking his body from his gut to his extremities. It lashed out and struck the crown of his head, the tips of his fingers, the depths of his groin, the length of his legs and the pads of his lips as they joined with hers. Over and over again. Rushing and receding and never taking a breath or a pause. Unable to stop themselves. Unable to comprehend anything, not danger or shame or fidelity. Unable to heed anything but her.

Elliot shifts onto his side, hoping the small adjustment will help him alter or escape the images in his mind's eye. But Olivia lies on the bed next to his, silently undoing his hope of respite. She must have entered after he did, falling as only she was able into a deep and instant slumber. She's turned her back to him, curling onto her left side, her shoulders hunched and socked feet pointed. Her t-shirt has separated from her jeans, leaving a sliver of skin bare at the base of her spine. It's pale and downy and unmarked by bruises he imagines her clothes purposefully hiding from him. At least he knows that when he held her there, keeping her close to him in that dungeon, palm pressed to the small of her back and a finger resting on the gap between her clothes, he wasn't hurting her, he wasn't exacerbating anything purple or red or yellow.

Closing his eyes on her, Elliot casts his weary mind forward to a time when this incident, these memories, these uncomfortable sensations lie in the distant past and no longer disturb him. That's why he does the therapy. For their partnership and his job and his future sanity. For the need in him for absolution and relief. For Olivia. And for his stubborn belief that Duncan was wrong and they can survive this. They can continue, as before, with their unique brand of detached intimacy and hypocritical denial. He looks forward to it – as he has always looked forward to the endless years of their safe status quo. That future feels endangered now but it has felt endangered before. They have always managed to pull it back from the edge, to draw each other away from a cliff they don't want to jump off, either separately or together. It's this thought that allows him to draw in a deep breath and release it, finding at least a measure of peace.

He doesn't know how much later it is that he hears Olivia's bed creak. He feels her turn and look at him. Her unguarded eyes on his face make the blood rush to his scalp, his neck, his cheeks. The dim light hides him though. So Elliot does not open his eyes as his partner studies him, sighs then rises and leaves him alone in the crib.

* * *

  
His fingers tap on the arm of his chair as they wait. "Think we'll be cured today?"

"Of what?" Olivia asks, leaning back in her chair, one leg folding over the other.

"I dunno," Elliot mumbles, glancing about at the untrustworthy FBI walls. "Each other?"

She shrugs as Huang enters his office and soundlessly closes the door. "Let's find out."

* * *

 

His hands were on her waist, on her bare skin, holding her beneath her shirt just as Duncan had instructed. It helped him keep her hips a respectable distance from his, helped him prevent her captive hands from being forced against his crotch. Olivia lifted them into the dip of her back so that he could shuffle closer, his chest grazing her back as he lowered his mouth to the curve of her shoulder. He kissed her there – because he'd been told to. He had not been told to let his tongue slide out and soothe her panicked flesh, her suffering shoulder joint. But Elliot let it do just that. Olivia's hands dropped slightly, her head fell back. When her head began to loll loosely on her neck though, Elliot straightened, a frown tugging his lips.

"...Liv?"

"Y'know, it's really not a good sign if they fall asleep while you're doin' them," Duncan remarked, examining his partner's heavy-lidded eyes.

"She's concussed," Elliot said, stepping round in front of her, both hands keeping her upright, "She needs a hospital."

"She hasn't got a hospital," Duncan told him with a careless tsk, "she's got you. Wake her up, Detective."

The second the order left his mouth though, Olivia's eyes rolled back in her head, her eyelids closing over as her knees suddenly buckled beneath her.

"Whoa— Liv!" Elliot caught her before she crumpled at his feet, easing her way to the floor. "She needs water!" he yelled, propping her up with a knee behind her back.

Duncan scratched his stubble and sniffed. Then, in his own time, he found a puckered old coke bottle on the floor and filled it with water at a rusty faucet. As he did, Elliot patted his partner's left cheek with the pads of his fingers then the right with their backs.

"Hey, Liv," he murmured, breath shallow and hot and anxious, "open your eyes. Open your eyes and look at me, Liv…"

He reached a hand up as Duncan approached with the water, looking down his nose at their dusty, intertwined bodies. Instead of handing Elliot the bottle though, he just upended it, letting the discolored water glug out and splash over Olivia's forehead, hair and eyes. She spluttered back to consciousness, her mouth spitting and choking, her faded eye makeup running down her cheeks.

"Oh look, she's back," he mused, crushing the bottle in his fist then tossing it away.

"She needs water _to drink_ ," Elliot grit, wiping her frantically blinking eyes.

"Get her on her feet," Duncan ordered, heading back to his tabletop perch. "We're not done with her yet."

Elliot tugged at the bottom of his shirt, using it to dab her dripping face, her bled mascara, her caked blood. "You gotta stay with me," he told her, the lump in his throat making his voice crack, "we're gonna get through this, okay? I promise you we're gonna get through this…" He stopped, eyes raking over her face to gauge how present she was. "You with me?"

Olivia's eyes landed on him, focused on him. "…With you."

A tiny smile emerged at her return. "Yeah?"

She blinked slowly, eyes shining. "Yeah..."

"Come on," his arms wound about her, "let's get you up—"

Olivia nodded, leaning into him as she slowly levered herself back up onto her feet.

* * *

  
After Olivia and Elliot leave, George sifts through the array of crime scene photos. The concrete chamber has been meticulously documented. The broken slabs, the barred window, the blood splatter. There are marks on the floor where each of the players stood. There are rulers held up to measure bullet holes and pools of drying blood. Similar rulers were later held up to Elliot and Olivia's injuries – the abrasions on Olivia's wrists, the gash on Elliot's forehead. And there are more than enough shots of Duncan's lifeless body on the concrete, his bloodied head and dead eyes after the sniper had taken the fatal shot.

He's been through the images several times but, like most crime scene photos, they don't tell the full story. The real story. He draws them into a pile, taps their edges against his desktop and slots them into the case file. Then he picks up the phone to call Captain Cragen. Like the photos, he doesn't relay the full story. He tells Cragen that he believes his longest serving detectives will survive this trauma, both individually and as partners. He speaks to their resilience and connection, consciously omitting aspects of their relationship that he witnessed but that fall outside their professional association and his purview. He recommends that once their injuries heal, they be cleared for duty.

On the other end of the line, Cragen pauses, perhaps waiting for more. They both know there's more to Benson and Stabler's story than what he's imparted. But out of unspoken respect for both detectives, neither of them says anything more.

* * *

  
"What d'you mean you moved out?" Olivia pulls up behind a haphazard column of cabs before turning to him, brows knit.

Elliot shrugs. "I mean I moved out. What's confusing about that sentence?"

She blinks at him. "Temporarily?"

"Kathy didn't even ask."

There's a brief pause. Cars honk and rev. Muffled and mingled radios pump out the latest lyrics. The FBI edifice looms coldly in the rear-view mirror. Elliot leans forward to fiddle with the knobs of the malfunctioning air-conditioning. Olivia palms the steering wheel, raising one hand then dropping it back again.

"So, where are you staying?"

Her partner points to a street up ahead. "Take the next right."

"Is this—" she begins then stops herself then reconsiders and goes on, "to do with what happened?" She presses the accelerator and their car inches forward in the bumper to bumper traffic. "With what Duncan said? Because it was mostly crap, you know that."

Elliot turns away, looking out the passenger side window and muttering about there being a little too much truth mixed in with the crap.

"We can deal with this," she insists, "we _are_ dealing with it—"

"It's not about—" he stops, shakes his head, "it was before, anyway…way before…"

Olivia sighs, casting him a concerned look. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Instead of answering, Elliot unbuckles his belt and reaches for the door.

"Whoa—" she jams on the breaks as he exits the slowly moving car, "where you goin'?"

"Subway." He points to an entrance across the street then gives her a nod. "I've got it from here. Thanks."

"El—"

Elliot slams the door, tells her through the open window, "See ya tomorrow."

Mouth open on a redundant reply, Olivia watches him zigzag through the trapped cars before disappearing down the subway steps. She lets out another sigh as the light up ahead turns green and the late afternoon congestion finally begins to flow.

* * *

  
She kicks off her shoes by the couch, shedding her shirt on the way to the shower. She's currently hooked on them and it's not because of the stifling New York heat. It's not shame either that has her wilting under a cool stream of water twice a day on a good day. Her body doesn't feel violated so much as awakened, hungry for hands it doesn't understand it can't own. The cool, steady stream eases that hunger. It erases, if momentarily, the memory of his hands on her body and how very, very right they felt despite all that was wrong with why they were there. Every day – two, three, four times a day – she tips her face up into the oncoming water, lets it run over her closed eyes and into her mouth, rinsing out the metallic taste of his kiss. And one day – one day soon, she trusts – this ritual cleansing will succeed in washing away those lost sensations, that awakened hunger, the memory her body still holds onto of utter perfection.

Peeling off sticky jeans and underwear, Olivia stands naked on the bathroom mat and examines her injuries in the mirror. Her shoulder is still tender and her wrists chafed. And there's a giant, multi-colored bruise on her hip, probably from when she was tossed into the van. Her chin and lip have both gone down though. She actually got off pretty lightly compared to Elliot. But then Kyle Duncan was much more interested in inflicting psychological injury than anything physical. A few cuts and bruises helped his cause, kept them compliant, but it was by no means his endgame. She wonders now whether he researched her history as well as he did Elliot's. Whether he knew that, for her, being the instrument of torture for someone she loved was the worst form of emotional brutality she could conceive of. He could have found out – about her mother, about the plague her daughter's existence had always represented. Or it could have been a fluke. Two tortured detectives for the price of one.

She'll never know now. And she's not sure she wants to. But she feels like she's been apologizing ever since. Not verbally, of course, because that wasn't her and Elliot's MO. She does it with a look or a coffee or a quip as they sit chained to their adjoining desks. With one of the strawberry donuts with sprinkles that he pretends to hate. Or with a hand on his arm when he lay sleeping in his hospital bed. She'd wondered why Kathy had never showed, why she'd never returned her messages. Now, she knew. Or at least, she knew the minutest fragment of the story that her partner had casually disclosed. Elliot had never been great at keeping her apprised of the state of his marriage and he'd only gotten worse. Because ever since that horrible day, they haven't been able to talk to each other or relax around each other or stand being alone together. Any time they are, it inevitably ends with her ditching him or him ditching her. Because she'd lied to Huang when she'd said it hadn't impacted their partnership. It had. It had and they both knew it. It had and neither of them knew how to fix it. How to make it back or let it go. How to be who they used to be to each other. Whatever that was.

Olivia frowns at her mirror image then rotates her shoulder as she steps into the shower cubicle. She twists the knobs, deliberately placing her body under the sudden, shocking spray of cold. Her mouth gasps and her chest heaves. Then the water starts to thaw and her body starts to acclimatise. She secures her hair with a clip and moves closer, letting the water run down her face, neck, chest, stomach. Turning her back to the spray and opening her eyes, Olivia watches the tepid water run down the drain, praying that the ramifications of the Duncan case go with it.

* * *

 _  
_ He was one stop away when he faltered.

One stop from his new digs – from the kitchen he shared with an extended family of roaches, from the half-gone bottle of bourbon and the leftover chicken pad thai, from the family photographs propped at his bedside and the unmade bed only he slept in, from the couch he slept on more often and the ship-in-a-bottle Olivia had given him one anniversary years before. So many years before he can't even remember when exactly. It was one of the few things he alone owned. She'd meant it to represent impossible things that somehow still got done – or something like that. She'd probably meant to just jokingly commemorate their years of partnership, fraught though they'd sometimes been. But some nights he can't help staring at it on his bare mantle and feeling a strange kinship with the tiny vessel. Like he can understand how something mighty might feel trapped – static and suffocating – in something so unnaturally small.

Slowly asphyxiating in the sweltering subway car, he'd suddenly thought of that ship – _The Fighting Irish_ she'd dubbed it with one of her furtive half-smiles. He could almost sense the thing lying in wait for him amid his apartment's safe gloom and budget furniture. The watery image of it was replaced though when he caught his own eye in the grimy glass of the train door. His reflection looked as ragged as he felt. As haunted and distorted. Both of them trying so desperately hard to look like they were in control and both failing miserably. Then – at the last possible second and seemingly of its own volition – his hand had darted out. It stopped the door from sealing shut on him, from entombing him in self-inflicted misery. He'd heaved the door back again, wedging his body into the opening and squeezing off the departing train. Across the platform, another train was arriving, this one going in the opposite direction. He'd sprinted across, jumping on board before the doors were even fully open.

Now, as Elliot takes the stairs two at a time, thighs burning and ribs throbbing, he's still not sure what prompted the move. Or what's going to happen once he reaches his destination. Whether what he's doing is the smartest thing he's done in a decade or incredibly, regrettably stupid.

He's not sure of much. Not anymore.

Just one thing.

* * *

  
"We need to talk," he says as soon as she opens the door.

Olivia gives a confused pout, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. "Ah…we just spent an hour and a half in mandated therapy."

" _We_ need to talk," he says, stepping inside her apartment, "You and me."

"Okay…"

She watches him enter, heading straight for her couch with a determined stride. She tightens the sash of her robe and follows. Elliot doesn't sit though. He paces tightly, two steps one way then two steps back again. When he faces her, his eyes flick to her white cotton robe then immediately away again. The silence is thick and their aloneness at last unavoidable.

"He was right," he states shortly.

Olivia frowns. "Huang?"

"Duncan. We can't go back—" he hesitates momentarily, looks like he wants to pace but resists the urge, instead adding, "I— don't want to go back."

Her lips part and eyes widen, almost imperceptibly. She sucks in a short breath and is about to answer when Elliot takes a single step closer and says:

"I don't want to be cured."

Olivia blinks at him warily. "…Of?"

He moves closer. "This." His gaze flicks between her eyes and her lips. "Us." He cups one side of her face with one hand. Then both. "You." He leans in, rests his forehead against hers. And after a long moment in which all either of them does is hold their breath, he whispers, "Say yes, Liv. Give me permission…"

Her breath steals up into her throat and her mind reels. But her body knows how to react, how it wants to react. Her arms float up from her sides, wrapping round him, fingertips pressing into the flesh and tone of his back, urging him on, urging him closer. But Elliot shakes his head against hers. Her response can't be implicit. For both of their sakes and particularly at this pivotal moment in their history, her assent must be undeniably explicit.

"You have to say it," he tells her, voice crackling with intimacy, with entreaty, "And I have to hear it." He pulls back to look at her, eyes scouring hers for clues.

Olivia puts a hand over his on her cheek. "Elliot…"

His eyes close over. "Please say yes…"

It comes out in a hiccup, her breath having ceased to function. But her answer, her consent, when requested, is absolute and unchecked. "Yes. Ye—"

His mouth is on hers before she can repeat the one word that will alter them so utterly. Elliot kisses her full on the mouth, the force of his unshackled desire causing her to take two steps backwards. Olivia recovers easily, meeting and matching each ounce of his passion with her own. She moans, mouth dropping open and Elliot takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. While their mouths, lips, tongues, breaths are gorging themselves on bliss, their long denied bodies are straining toward each other, begging for even a little taste. Her hands dart to the sash of her robe, yanking it loose and opening it to him, freeing her frustrated skin and bones. The chill of the shower has instantly evaporated and now her whole body thumps with scorching need.

She places her hands over his on her face, clutches them and guides them downwards, over her neck, chest, breasts. Elliot groans and squeezes her, one thumb running over one peaked nipple. Mouths fused, she continues introducing her partner to her body, moving his warm, rough palms over her ribcage and stomach, leaving them to rest on her hips. Given such unhindered access, his hands slide round to her ass and his whole body surges forward again. Olivia takes another step backwards before pushing back with her mouth, her body, her equal hunger. Her head freed of his grasp, she tilts it to one side, parting his lips with her tongue and making him moan deep, deep down in his throat. Her hands scrub up and down his back then grasp him, hauling his clothed body against her naked one. His sweep up her back and over her ass, circling and exploring under the thin robe. Abruptly breaking their kiss, Elliot frees his hands and rids her of the robe, letting it drop into an unwanted pile at her feet. Then he kisses her again, this kiss more savoring, less frantic. Bending at the knees, he wraps an arm around her waist and another beneath her butt. Olivia encircles his neck with her arms, feet dangling near his shins as he lifts her and carries her into the bedroom.

He lowers her to her feet by the bed. Then, in the red-stained light from the retreating sun, Elliot leans forward, urging her to lean back. Olivia backs onto the bed, eyes locked with his. One hand presses into the mattress by her head and he hovers over her for a moment before capturing her lips in a still, soft kiss. His mouth moves lower, kissing her jaw then her neck then her chest then her breasts. He takes one into the warm cavern of his mouth, lets his teeth graze over her flushed nipple. Olivia arches and writhes and silently watches him descend. He covers her torso with his touch, with his breath. He tongues her belly and her hipbones. Then he settles on the floor between her legs. Dragging her slowly forward, he spreads her legs, kisses both her knees then begins collecting the residual moisture from her cold shower and the newer moisture of his creation on his ravenous tongue.

* * *

  
Later, when he's inside her for the second time that night, she sees his eyes taper, she sees Elliot recede inside himself. His hips falter against hers, breaking their rhythm. His arms, braced against the bed, quake with doubt and anger. Olivia lifts a hand to his face, runs her thumb over his cheek.

"Hey. El…" Her other hand runs up and down his naked flank, "forget about him, he's gone. Look at me, focus on me."

Elliot's gaze re-focuses. "Olivia…"

"Yeah…" She smiles up at him, lifts her head off the pillow to kiss his bottom lip, "right here. Right here with me…"

"Olivia," he groans, collapsing onto her, burying his face in her neck.

She winds an arm round his head, kisses his ear. "Yeah…"

"Liv…" He exhales hotly into her neck, his hips re-finding their rhythm. He repeats her name, unconscious and litanous, eyes squeezed shut on a single tear.

Olivia answers him with a gasped _yes_ , an always _yes_ , an unquestionable and unequivocal _yes_.

When the pleasure building between them begins to swell, Elliot pulls back to look at her. "Yeah?" he asks and she can see from his dark, blue eyes that he is back. He is with her and her alone.

She smiles and nods. "Yeah…"

So Elliot picks up the pace. Within a minute, she is gasping and groaning _yes_ and _yeah_ and _God_ and _El_ over and over and over again. Less than a minute after that, Elliot sobs her name one last time and releases himself inside her.

* * *

  
Elliot rises early, slipping out to buy fresh bread, bacon, mushrooms, butter, spinach and eggs. He buys extra of everything since Olivia has never understood the concept of a refrigerator and what it's used for. On his way back from her local market, he grabs two large coffees and two sugary donuts. He's generally not a fan of the overly-sweet pastries that seem to just materialize in the 16th's squadroom but they have grown on him over the years. And on this particular morning, he's in too a good a mood to care about calories, especially since he and his partner burnt off more than enough the night before.

He's laying out his loot on the kitchen counter when Olivia appears in her robe, lured by the aroma of coffee. Her feet are bare and her hair mussed and she murmurs a slightly sheepish _morning_ as she peels the lid off one of the paper cups. Elliot rumbles _morning_ in reply then begins searching through her cabinets for a frying pan, spatula and plates. He locates them easily as if all those years of partnering Olivia somehow translate into instinctively knowing where she might store kitchen essentials. Olivia just watches, sipping her coffee. Then she slips up onto the kitchen counter, opening the bag of donuts and taking a big bite out of one.

"El?" she mumbles with her mouth full.

He smiles. He loves the sound of her voice all crackly with sleep. "Mm?"

"I need to tell you something."

"What's that?" he asks, opening the carton of eggs. When Olivia doesn't answer straight away, he stops what he's doing and turns, a little fear creeping in.

She swallows her mouthful then says, "I will never, ever, _ever_ …" She stops to scoop some jam out of the center of her donut and suck it off her finger.

Elliot begins to frown. He braces himself internally for the end of her sentence. _Be able to forgive you_ , his fearful mind supplies. _Look at you the same way again_ , it hypothesizes. _Forget that day_ , it adds. He knows he'll never forget it. He'll try – but he won't succeed. He'll never forget waking in the trundling van next to her unconscious body. He'll never forget the clarity in her eyes as she challenged Kyle Duncan, doing everything she could to protect him, to defend him, to ease the psychological blow of his torture. He'll never forget her mouth, smeared with blood but open against his, allowing his, mitigating his. And he'll never forget how she looked when the shot that ended their ordeal finally rang out. Her head had ducked down and sideways at the sound, her eyes squeezed shut. Her body had long begun to sag with fatigue, twisting on one side to relieve the ache in her mangled shoulder. Her shirt had been ripped apart by his hands at Duncan's command, the torn halves hanging limply over her exposed torso. So that when the bullet pierced Duncan's skull, dropping him in place mid psychotic sentence, his brain matter and blood had splattered over the skin of her bare chest, neck and turned cheek. Elliot had commandeered the first windbreaker he could, covering her up before even untaping her wrists. But even so – he'll never forget that sight. It dissolves before his eyes though as Olivia completes her sentence.

"…forgo donuts for you," she muses, a small smile on her lips.

Elliot exhales, his smile returning. And focuses on how she looks now, sitting on her kitchen counter in her white robe, feet kicking back and forth, eyes unpainted and drowsy, rumpled hair tucked behind her ears, lips swollen from his kiss and fingertips caked in sugar. Stepping closer, he places his hands on her knees and slides them apart so he can stand between them. His hands steal up inside her robe, grasping her soft woman hips and pulling her toward him. He places a light kiss on her lips, stealing some of their sugar, then murmurs:

"Good."

Olivia smiles back, head ducking down to his and lips initiating a much deeper kiss. Midway through it, Elliot scoops her up off the counter. She yelps in surprise and it's the happiest sound he's ever heard her mouth emit. Her donut drops to the floor as he heads for the bedroom, her arms and legs wrapping round him. They let him know that his partner is of the same opinion as he is.

Breakfast can definitely wait.

* * *

  
"Breakfast is served," she announces, strolling up to him with a wide smile, twin coffee cups and an oily bag of donuts.

Elliot gives a dimmer smile, answering in a hesitant tone, "Yeah, you…might wanna hold off on that." He takes the bag from her and chucks it on the front seat of the sedan. "Trust me."

Shelving the coffees on the car roof, Olivia peers around him at the grim façade of the brownstone. The windows reflect the flashing red and blue lights and the stone steps are dotted with coming and going unis. "That bad, huh?"

Elliot shoves the car door closed and tilts his head in a _come on_ gesture. "Let's just say there'll be no easing us back into the job."

Olivia sighs as they head down the footpath towards their first crime scene since the Duncan case. The sun is just rising on the horizon, bringing with it a sudden spike in the temperature. It furnishes the top floor of the unfortunate residence with a bright orange crest. The pavement beneath their shoes still bristles with warmth from the previous month's heatwave, the humidity causing the garbage lining the streets to smell particularly rank. Both of them have already done away with their jackets and both their shirts already look ripe for a change. The occasional neighbor leans out a window in their pyjamas to watch them stride by in their sensible work wear, a gun strapped to each of their hips.

Olivia glances up at the brownstone as they climb the stairs and flash their badges at the rookie on guard. "Remind me again why we do this."

Elliot pushes the door open, bracing an arm against it and peering up at her from beneath his brows. "Pretty sure I don't need to."

Olivia meets his gaze, maintaining eye contact as she crosses the threshold. The exchange is brief and their understanding implicit. Her head ducks, his gives a single bob. Then Elliot follows his partner inside, letting the door thud shut behind them.

_END._

For the rest of my SVU fic, go [here](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/812100/Mindy35).


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